


the trojan wall

by calciseptine



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: (though both are very mild and vague), Addiction, Eating Disorders, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-17
Updated: 2012-11-17
Packaged: 2017-11-18 20:21:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calciseptine/pseuds/calciseptine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nearly all of Gokudera's money went to one of three things: gunpowder, tobacco, and coffee.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the trojan wall

**Author's Note:**

> I HAVEN'T WRITTEN FOR THIS FANDOM IN FOREVER, AND THEN K WAS LIKE ["HEY I'VE SEEN THIS JACKET BEFORE"](http://kchanlp.tumblr.com/post/34527588718/holy-shit-i-finally-remembered-why-that-photo) AND MY OLD HEADCANONS JUST SURGED UP AND I WAS LIKE I NEED TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR THIS. ~~Also, sorry about the maybe D59? I was thinking about writing a 5980 reaction piece that took place afterwards, with Gokudera topping the fuck out of Yamamoto, so just know that I was going in that direction.~~

Throughout his childhood and adolescence, Gokudera was terribly thin. He had run away from home at eight and spent the next six years on the streets of Palermo; in Namimori, he lived in a cramped efficiency apartment. The money he scrounged up came from other people's pockets and, when he was old enough, a part-time job at a convenience store. After rent, nearly all of the money went to one of three things: gunpowder, tobacco, and coffee.

No one ever said anything about it—not that Gokudera would let them even if they tried—though he knew that there were a few people who noticed. Shamal always had extra food in his office or in his apartment, leftovers that he couldn't possibly eat himself; Nana would always pile Gokudera's rice high and give him an extra serving; Tsuyoshi would push the fattiest pieces of fish in Gokudera's direction; Dino would be sure to wrangle Gokudera into visiting a restaurant under the pretense of 'gaining an outsider's perspective to the Tenth's growth'; and Bianchi would always leave take-out in his tiny fridge.

Despite the numerous attempts of those around him, Gokudera did not eat much. He remembered nearly starving in those first few months on the street, but the constant edge of hunger quickly became another aspect of his life. Even when he left Italy for Japan, and he suddenly had a network of careful providers, he found that he could not eat much without becoming sick; a small bowl of rice was enough to make him feel full, never mind the meals that Nana and Dino tried to stuff him with.

The cigarettes took the worst edge off and coffee kept him running when he would otherwise collapse. Gokudera knew his lifestyle was unsupportable in the long run, but what did that matter? Most mafia men didn't live past forty. Death was death was death, inevitable and unknowable, and it could come from a bullet or cancer, from a heart attack or poison.

"You are very selfish," Dino said one night, at a Western-style restaurant in the shopping district of Namimori. Gokudera was struggling through the third course—out of seven, Christ—and he glared at the scallops even as the Cavallone _don_ smiled at him. "And you have a very skewed sense of self worth."

"Fuck off," Gokudera snapped.

"How can the right-hand man expect to take care of his boss when he cannot even take care of himself?"

Gokudera hated Dino and Dino's blatant meddling, yet the words stuck to him like a stubborn burr. He refused give up on his cigarettes and his caffeine—these addictions would stay with him for a lifetime—but he forced himself to eat at least once a day and, when he had food in front of him, ate until his stomach stretched.

It was unpleasant. Gokudera preferred the sharpness of hunger than the bloat of fullness. Still, he kept at it, as stubborn in this as he was in anything else. By the time he graduated high school and the _famiglia_ split their time between Namimori and Sicily, Gokudera had begun to put on weight.

"Leave that subtle strength to the other Guardians," Coyote told Gokudera around his cigar, one night at the villa. Tsuna was slowly taking over Timoteo's duties and, at that point, Gokudera had been under Coyote's stern and watchful eye for almost a month. "It is nice to have an opponent underestimate you, but your boss is as unassuming as they come. You need to be the intimidation."

"Nobody should underestimate the Tenth," Gokudera hissed.

"He is small and he has a kind face. These are things he cannot change," Coyote replied bluntly. "You? You're a scrawny ass kid. But you can change that—for your _don_ and your _famiglia_ , if you can't do it for yourself."

Gokudera fumed at Coyote's words as long as he had once fumed at Dino's, but he eventually saw the truth in them. So Gokudera ate more and more until he matched even Ryouhei's calorie and nutritional intake, and built himself into the kind of man that could stand behind the Tenth, unmovable and powerful.

It took the rest of the year. Along with his duties, the degree he was earning at the university, and the necessary visits he made with the Tenth to other _famiglia_ , Gokudera integrated an exercise regime and strict diet. He was not as tall as he might have been, but he had come from a long line of mafia men; his shoulders were broad, his palms were wide, and he grew thick stubble on his jaw. The extra weight and muscle settled well.

"I almost can't believe it," Dino said at the farewell party, the day before Gokudera and Tsuna were scheduled to return to Japan. His eyes lingered on the stretch of Gokudera's suit. "You look like an entirely different person."

"Fuck off," Gokudera snapped.

Dino just laughed.  



End file.
